


I made this place for you

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Galaxy Garrison, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Shiro/Keith, Season/Series 07, Tension (and not the sexy kind), war-hardened Adam and Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: "You knew,” Shiro's voice is deceptively soft. “You knew, but the Garrison never recognized our marriage, did they? That's why Keith was alone in that shack in the middle of the desert.”Or, Shiro and Keith return to Earth, but they're reminded of what shape the Garrison let them in.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), former Adam/Shiro
Comments: 36
Kudos: 314





	I made this place for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Copperpot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copperpot/gifts).



> To Copperpot, who gave me this idea: what if Adam found out Keith and Shiro were married Pre-Kerberos?
> 
> Title comes from Richard Silken's "Snow and Dirty Rain."

It’s strange, being back at the Garrison.

They’ve been given clothes to change into—the Garrison probably sees it as a kindness—but the cadet uniform feels like a slap in Keith’s face. Sure, he doesn’t exactly regret being booted out—Shiro was more broken up about it than he was when Keith had told him, long before everything really got started—but they didn’t have to, what? Rub it in? Remind him?

Meanwhile, Shiro’s looking down at his jacket, specifically at the gray right sleeve draped over the edge of the bed. “Guess we need some scissors.”

“I won’t wear it if you won’t,” Keith says. He means it; he'd rather wear his paladin armor that hasn't been washed for several quintants than go back to traffic-cone orange. It makes him feel like the child he knows most of the Garrison still thinks he is, no matter how much Sam Holt attempted to update everyone on his return. And it looks like he hasn't been too successful, either—Keith senses an uphill battle coming. 

“No,” Shiro says slowly, “we need to start off on the right foot this time.”

Still, he’s not moving; Keith knows Shiro’s feeling the same way: this place isn’t home. Not anymore.

The officers and cadets had stared at them as they walked back: at Shiro's white hair and missing arm, at Keith's scarred cheek and giant space wolf (Romelle had volunteered to watch him while everyone was shown to their rooms, but Keith suspected she didn't want to be completely alone with strangers). The air is filled with suspicion, with guilt, with curiosity, and it relieved both of them when they were able to close the door to _their_ room (Iverson had raised his eyebrows but thankfully said nothing). 

Now, Keith’s not even sure if he _wants_ to be back. 

“Hey, maybe we can take some hoverbikes out,” Keith suggests. “Like old times.” 

That cheers Shiro up—or at least distracts him for the time being. “Yeah,” he agrees, turning to Keith with a challenging grin. “Get ready to be beaten _again_.”

“I don’t know,” Keith replies. “I won last time, didn’t I?”

“You did not,” Shiro protests, but his eyes are betraying otherwise. 

“I think we both agreed I did.”

“I let you win.”

“Let me?”

“Of course,” Shiro says, “I wanted to butter you up _before_ the proposal.”

“Oh, that was not part of your master plan at all,” Keith says, but smiles at the memory: him turning back to laugh at Shiro, who was crouching in the dust with a hand lifted. He’d thought Shiro had fallen, that the disease had relapsed, and nearly tackled Shiro in medical pat-downs and worries before Shiro, apologetic and reassuring, began explaining with his fingers closed tightly around the ring to keep it from falling into the sand.

“How did you know?” Shiro asks.

“Because you were not that smooth, Takashi Shirogane,” Keith says, stepping closer, voice low, and is gratified to see Shiro flush.

“And you were?”

Keith leans in. Closer. He wants Shiro to feel his lips barely grazing his. “Maybe I was.”

Kissing Shiro is still a novelty—and it makes sense. Shiro hadn’t remembered their relationship—and to be honest, Keith isn’t sure when Shiro first pieced it together, either before he died or while everyone thought the clone was Shiro. It had used that information against him in their fight; Keith had known by his time on the space whale and trained to ignore it, after an embarrassing conversation with his mom, and they’d ended up in each other’s arms after Shiro woke up gasping from the healing pod. They’d talked in the Black Lion, away from smirks and glances, drifting into something familiar but new during those long stretches of space.

Shiro had been hesitant, unable to look at Keith’s scar without guilt in his expression, touching him gently as if to make up for the last time. It had been Keith who’d coaxed smoldering coals to fire, sitting astride Shiro and swallowing apologies with his mouth, hands stroking over skin like flint.

He doesn’t think they’ll get that giddy, careless feeling again—of feeling new and invincible and the feeling of as long as they had each other, nothing would change. He knows better now, but this—this is still good, Shiro’s hand resting at the small of his back, drinking in Keith like air, drawing out shuddery gasps. 

Kissing Shiro makes everything align. It seems like a small thing to be able to take his hand or rest his head on Shiro’s shoulder or to slip in next to him underneath the covers, but to Keith, it means there’s something right in the world.

“Speaking of old times, I want to see the shack,” Shiro says, after they pull away. “I’m afraid I didn’t get a good glimpse of it the last time—my head was still pretty scrambled.”

“I don’t even know if it’s still there,” Keith says.

It could have been destroyed in one of the many Empire assaults, or even torn apart for evidence after they’d escaped the Garrison. Part of him that still remembers his dad’s low chuckle and hand ruffling his head, his penchant for twirling spaghetti “the Italian way” with a spoon and fork, or his fingers carefully fumbling at the crackly radio, mourns the loss.

The other part, with its silent and boiling-hot nights, of sweat-damp sheets and lethargy for over a few days, of listening to coyotes howl for their packs under the clear starry sky, after so many days of sleepy lie-ins and stolen kisses and secret wishes, likes it buried.

“I liked the idea of it,” Shiro admits. “Just us having some distance from everyone.” 

“It doesn't have air conditioning.”

“Still?” Shiro asks, wrinkling his nose. He remembers that, at least, of sticky-hot days where a ten-minute walk resulted in sweat sliding down his back and dampening his hair. "In Arizona? Isn't that against a law or something?”

Keith shrugs. “Who knows? We managed. Why do you think we only went there in the evenings?”

“But you and your dad...then...”

Keith shrugs again, turning away. “I managed.”

Shiro reaches out, lightly touching his arm. “I never...asked you about what happened. After Kerberos.”

“I never brought it up.”

“No,” Shiro says. “But Keith...the money I—in the…it should have been enough for air conditioning at least.”

Keith grits his teeth. “Shiro...”

“You could have pawned your ring. I would have understood—”

“I didn't pawn it,” Keith says irately. “I never would have.”

“Is it still in the shack?” Shiro asks. “I understand why you didn't wear it in the castle, but—"

“Shiro...” Keith says, hesitating. “I...”

There’s a sudden knock on the door, and Keith thinks maybe it’s one of the paladins or brass telling them to head over to the debrief and is about ready to snap out a brusque _coming_! when Shiro does the polite thing and opens it.

“Takashi—"

“I go by Shiro now,” Shiro says bluntly. “With everyone.”

Adam flinches slightly. He looks taller, Keith notices, even though that shouldn't technically be possible; it has to be the new muscles in his shoulders and arms. He still has his glasses, but the frames are slightly thicker, sturdier; his old wire glasses might have snapped cleanly in half in battle. Adam's uniform is Garrison gray, with a few more stripes and even some slips of ribbon; all he's missing is the stupid beret. 

“I…I heard you were back. I wanted to say…” His eyes flicker to Keith, and Keith holds his gaze, staring back challengingly. “Can we talk? In private?”

“I really don’t feel like being alone with you, Adam,” Shiro says stiffly.

Adam tries a different tact: “I’m glad to see you.” Keith, sardonically, notes that Adam’s still avoiding his gaze. “You’ve changed.”

“War changes people,” Shiro says.

Adam’s eyes go to his missing right arm. “I know. And I wish…”

“If things were different, we would be in the same position,” Shiro interrupts. Keith’s never seen Shiro like this; he knows their break-up was bad, but Shiro never talked about it, even back at the Garrison. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me _I told you so_?”

“No,” Adam says, an edge of new impatience and surprise in his tone, “You know I wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t really think I do,” Shiro says sharply. “And before we go in there, anything we should know? I’d like to know before I get strapped to a table and drugged.”

Adam straightens. There's a slight, very slight, trace of a scar on his jawbone. “Yes. For one, their Galra commander—he wants the lions. In exchange, he’ll leave Earth alone.”

“And we’re not giving them,” Keith spits.

Adam looks to Shiro, who says, with a hint of pride, “ _Keith_ is the leader of Voltron.”

“Keith,” Adam says slowly, as if it’s a foreign word. “Your leader?”

“I am,” Keith says. “And the Empire doesn’t keep their promises. Once they have Voltron, they have the most powerful weapon in the galaxy, and they wipe out Earth—and the rest of the universe, too. I’m sure the rest of the team will agree with me; we’ve fought them.”

“So have we,” Adam says. 

“Not like us,” Keith replies.

Adam’s voice rises, as if talking to a child. “Maybe, but we’re down to our last defenses. This is the only stronghold left. We need to protect—”

“If we surrender,” Keith interrupts, tone sharper, “we won’t have an Earth to protect.”

Adam looks to Shiro again, like Shiro’s still Keith’s commanding officer and that this new dynamic is a trick. “I’d still like to speak with y—”

“If you’re going to tell me anything, you can say it in front of my husband.”

“So he wasn’t lying,” Adam says quietly.

“What?”

Adam seems to have realized he’s misspoken. “I…” Unwillingly, his eyes flicker to Keith.

And Keith knows Adam's revealed more than they both wanted Shiro to know. 

"You knew,” Shiro's voice is deceptively soft. “You knew, but the Garrison never recognized our marriage, did they? That's why Keith was alone in that shack in the middle of the desert.”

Adam raises his hands. “I tried to—"

“Did you?” Shiro asks. “Because you have clout in the Garrison, Adam. You were one of the top fighter pilots when I left. You were set to outrank me before I even returned from Kerberos. Can you honestly say you did everything you could?”

Keith remembers standing alone in the doorway, clutching his necklace like a lifeline. Adam visiting him at his lowest.

 _Married_? Adam had hissed. _To you?_

 _To me._ Keith had snapped with all the recklessness of someone who had nothing to lose. He had the sense, back then, not to pull his knife or go for the rusty shotgun his dad kept in the back for emergencies. But he stood like he had a weapon, blocking the door. _This is my—our—home. You’re not welcome here._

It turned ugly, then. He could still feel being knocked off his feet, his own knuckles tearing open like blisters, a sharp pain at the back of his neck. The clink of a ring against two dogtags. His throat, dry from the desert and sore from screaming.

Recalling all this should make him feel angry, bitter. But when he looks at Adam, he sees someone who’s unwilling to leave the past behind, someone who’s been changed by the war by becoming sharper, someone who’s no longer having a say in what Keith wants.

And maybe he and Shiro won’t have that newlywed golden hour or recapture their old life before Kerberos. Really, they were young and drunk on love and recklessness, who didn’t really know what marriage meant.

Keith still doesn’t know what it _means_ , exactly, but knows this: it means bringing his loved one back from the dead. It means crossing the galaxy. It means more than what Adam—or anyone at the Garrison—can understand.

“Shiro,” Keith touches his shoulder. 

Shiro relaxes in his hold, but says, “I want restitution. Because until the Garrison no longer needs us as defense, we're out of here.”

Adam says, “You can't mean that.” 

Keith says, “I think we already have a place in mind.”

For the last time, Adam looks to Shiro, who says softly, “You better go, Adam.”

Adam then reaches underneath his jacket, pulling out a familiar chain. At the sight, Shiro sucks in a harsh breath, but Keith only stares as Adam slowly unfastens the chain, with its dogtags and ring, and holds them out slowly, almost guiltily.

Quickly, Keith snatches them away, and this time, it’s Shiro’s hand on Keith’s shoulder.

The door closes with a soft _click_ , and Keith can’t help but breathe out slowly, leaning against Shiro’s shoulder, knot in his chest loosening.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s unpack.”


End file.
